


Souls; Plural, Parallel

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Nerd Harry, Pregnant Louis, Soulmates, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Soulmates are rare, the sort of rare that means everyone has a story about a friend's sister's coworker or a brother's roommate's cousin. But the fact of the matter is that most people never meet theirs. It's unfortunate then, that Louis finds out the hard way that he met his soulmate in a club, and the guy never texted him back.





	1. The Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lululawrence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lululawrence/gifts).



> I would like to first and foremost give all the thanks to the person who received so many late night (and middle of the day) messages from me about this fic. It wouldn't be what it is now without you!
> 
> To Lululawrence - I hope you like this! I was informed that you wouldn't mind my adding a bit of nerd Harry into the mix, so I hope my informant was correct! Happy reading xx
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE NOW THAT ITS REVEALED! Thank you to Brit for bearing with my freaking out for so long! And thank you Sus for pretending that you didn't know it was me. This fic is just A LOAD OF FLUFF

Louis’s not often found in a club late night on a Tuesday.

He’s not often found in clubs in general these days, feeling like he outgrew them when he hit mid-twenties and landed himself a full-time job. He’s much more the familiar-pub-drinks-with-friends type these days than the grinding-on-a-sweaty-stranger type. 

Still, here he is. The bass is pounding and the song is only vaguely familiar, but Louis is moving his hips in ways that he knows he’s going to feel tomorrow (it’s been a while since he used his dancing muscles), and the man he’s up against is absolutely  _ gorgeous. _

He didn’t see today going this way. When he woke up he was expecting another normal day at the office followed by probably a quiet evening at home. The text from Steve came in late morning, and it didn’t leave much room for negotiation.

**Steve:** _You’re coming to the club tonight. It’s my birthday and I deserve all your attention._

 **Louis:** _Its not your birthday_ **  
** **Louis:** _What if im busy_

 **Steve:** _You’re not. And even if you were, I know you’d drop everything for me <3_

 **Louis:** _Rude. u dont know me_  
 **Louis:** _What club_

It’s not like he could ever really say no to anything Steve asked of him. The man had been there the second Louis had needed him, over and over again, ever since they’d shared a shitty flat their second year of university. Steve had answered an ad Louis posted on Facebook looking for a possibly roommate, and he had been the only one Louis looked into that hadn’t given off a horrible creeper vibe. Steve had been jumping-off-the-walls excited when they met up in a coffee shop to hammer out the finer details, and Louis soon learned that that was his permanent state of being.

Right now, for instance, Louis can see him distantly, on the other end of the dance floor, bopping along to the music in his own little world. He looks ridiculously good doing it, for some reason Louis can’t fathom because anyone else jumping around on their lonesome in a club would look ridiculous. But Steve looks like a model in a shampoo commercial showing off his brand new conditioner. Incredible.

Louis, on the other hand, has other fish to fry. He wasn’t planning on dancing originally, even with Steve excitedly dragging him onto the floor. He thought he’d drink a beer or two and watch everyone else make fools of themselves. It was much more his style. 

But that plan went out the window when this particular gorgeous stranger made eye contact with him across the dance floor.

From what Louis could see of him through the pulsing lights, he’s got incredible waves of curls down past his shoulders, a jawline that Louis would like to lick, and a flashy shirt just bordering neon that’s more unbuttoned than it is buttoned. It looks ridiculous, honestly, but the man wearing it is the hottest thing Louis has happened across in a long time, and he’s apparently taken an interest in Louis so who is  _ he _ to tell this man how to dress?

He’s been grinding up against this gorgeous stranger through a number of songs at this point, and he thinks it’s about time to begin work on other things. Like that jawline. Steve’s got other friends he dragged along here tonight, he won’t mind if one of them goes missing, right?

Louis turns, hips still moving with the music, so that he’s face to face with this stranger, having to look up to properly make eye contact. The man smiles down at him, and Louis can see just the lightest amount of stubble, peach fuzz really, that he feels a strong need to nuzzle against.

(Which is weird. That’s not the sort of thing one does to hot strangers. Get it together Louis.)

Louis leans forward and (not that he would admit this) goes onto his toes just the tiniest bit to land a kiss on the man’s lips. He figures straight-forward is the best way to play this game, and is pleasantly surprised when the man follows him back down to his level to kiss back.

Oh, it’s a good night. His lips are full and soft and feel a little unsure, just enough for Louis to feel good about taking charge, reaching his free hand up to loosely grip the curls cascading down the man’s back. He moans into the kiss and Louis thinks someone up in heaven has blessed him tonight.

The dance floor eventually seems like the wrong sort of venue for the two of them and Louis carefully maneuvers the two of them to a back wall, somewhere he can properly take control of the situation. The man stumbles more than a few time and Louis wonders about exactly how much he’s had to drink, but he can’t taste more than the faintest hint of grenadine on his breath so he figures maybe he’s just caught up in the moment.

Louis’s got him up against the wall near the door, and everything about this man feels like he was made for him. He’s pliant under his touch and entirely willing to let Louis have control in every way he likes, but he seems eager for everything Louis has to give. He’s not sure how much time has passed before the stranger eventually rasps out, “M’ Harry,” in a voice much deeper than Louis was expecting.

“Louis,” Louis responds because it would be rude not to.

“My place is close by,” Harry suggests, his voice sending shivers down Louis’s spine. 

He eagerly accepts the invitation though.

‘Close by’ is still far enough away that they have to wait for an Uber (not that they can’t find anything to fill their time with), and Louis is pretty sure Harry’s rating is about to go down with the amount of spit exchanged in the back seat of the Prius that picked them up.

They stumble into Harry’s flat much the same way they stumbled out of the Uber - roaming hands all over one another that don’t leave room for things like  _ coordination. _ Louis doesn’t get much of a look around, doesn’t notice much past the fact that it’s surprisingly clean and smells like flowers, and then he’s kissing Harry again as the man navigates them toward where Louis assumes a bed will be awaiting.

He’s not wrong.

The night is long in the best of ways, and Louis can’t remember the last time he spent the night with someone but with Harry it feels very natural. There’s not a lot of talking but when there is it’s all reassurances and mentions of  _ you’re beautiful _ and  _ you look perfect like that _ and Louis thinks it’s one of those nights that he’ll think about for a long time.

He falls asleep in the early hours of the morning with his arm wrapped around the gorgeous man feeling very satisfied with himself.

— 

The mornings after a hookup - not that Louis has had much experience over the years - seem like they should be incredibly awkward, but this morning isn’t. Louis wakes up to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, and he sighs in contentment before even remembering where he is and opening his eyes.

Harry, the beautiful man from the night before (has Louis mentioned he’s beautiful? Gorgeous? Breathtaking?) is laying next to him on the bed, one hand caressing Louis’s hair and the other holding up a tablet with a wall of text that makes Louis’s head hurt just to look at.

“Mornin’,” Louis rasps out, his morning voice as rough as ever.

Harry looks over at him and a smile lights up his face, which Louis can’t help but reciprocate.

“I’ve made coffee,” he says and Louis could kiss him. Again. “And I’ve got the stuff for omelettes, if you’re interested. Unless you’re a vegan or something, in which case… I’ve got toast.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “Omelettes sound amazing,” he says, whining a little when Harry takes his hand away. “Actually I’ve changed my mind! Stay here and keep doing that thing with your hand in my hair until we both starve.”

Harry lets out a loud, braying laugh that startles Louis, but then makes him grin so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Stay here, I’ll be back,” Harry says. “The toilet’s across the hallway if you need it. Dunno if I’ve got an extra toothbrush but you might find one under the sink from the last time I went to the dentist.”

“Well aren’t you a little charmer,” Louis says, sinking back down under the covers. “I’ll consider it, to save you from my morning breath. But only because you’re cute.”

Harry gives him a warm smile before leaving the room, leaving Louis to his own devices.

He knows he  _ should _ probably find clothes. At least pretend to be decent in this stranger’s house, but that seems like an awful lot of work. He rolls over and surveys the room, surprised when his eyes scan over everything to find what looks like the clothes he had on last night sitting folded on the floor next to the bed.  _ He _ certainly wasn’t the one to do that!

He convinces himself to get out of Harry’s bed (which is soft and smells like man in the best of ways) and dons his ensemble from the night before. He’s not generally the type to grind on strangers in the club, much less wake up in a stranger’s bed, but something about last night felt incredibly right and Louis feels like a bit of morning kisses before breakfast.

There’s an electric toothbrush next to the sink that Louis assumes belongs to Harry, and he finds a half-opened package with a regular (pink) toothbrush in the cabinet that he uses gratefully, wincing at his own breath when he opens his mouth.

He makes his way down the hallway without the slightest clue as to how the flat is laid out after the whirlwind that was last night. The kitchen, conveniently, is right at the end and the sound of breakfast sizzling on the hob greets Louis first, followed by a lovely vision of Harry in just his pants.

“I feel overdressed now,” Louis complains, coming up next to him and looking with interest at the omelette taking shape in the pan. 

Harry turns to look at him and laughs. “You look perfectly dressed to me. I should at least put on an apron I think, omelettes can get a bit dangerous when they’re made with olive oil.”

“Olive oil? What, are these supposed to be  _ healthy?”  _ Louis looks at the pan like it might bite him, earning a crooked grin from Harry.

“Not with the amount of cheese I add to them,” he takes a spatula and attempts to turn it over, eliciting hisses and squeaks that have both of them jumping back. “I just think they taste a bit better, adds a bit of nice flavour to it.” 

“Hmm, I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Louis says, putting a hand on Harry’s back to steady himself as he takes another suspicious look at the omelette.

“I’m sure you will be. Didn’t I say you should stay in bed?”

Louis pouts. “It’s boring back there. No one to entertain me.”

“Oh, is that my job then? Give me a minute to get these plated and I’ll think of something. Coffee’s in the pot still if you want some while you wait.”

Harry does make a persuasive argument, and  manages to convince Louis to get back to bed, this time with a cup of coffee, following him shortly with two plates of omelettes.

It’s cosy, and when Harry climbs in next to him Louis can feel the body heat radiating off of him like a human furnace. Harry hands both plates to Louis long enough to situate himself the same way Louis is, legs under the covers and back against the headboard. Their legs are touching and Louis feels like he’s back in secondary school the way he blushes at the contact, handing Harry back his breakfast.

“It’s not bad,” Louis says, trying to sound like the omelette isn’t the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Not bad?” Harry asks, sounding a little scandalised. “I poured my heart and soul into that! I should hope it’s a little better than ‘not bad’!”

“You poured your heart and soul into a breakfast food?”

“Well… Only like, half my heart. And a third of my soul.” 

“Only a third? What, am I not good enough for all of your soul in my omelette?”

Louis knows he’s speaking complete shit at this point but Harry’s warm dimpled smile whenever he says something dumb is making him feel some kind of way, and he likes it very much.

They eat in partial silence, Harry bringing up that he will have to unfortunately leave in under an hour for a mid-afternoon work shift (apparently they managed to sleep quite late). Louis learns that Harry is a “rare artifacts curator” at the children’s museum near the centre of town (which sounds like a nonsense job but he tells Harry that he’ll take his word for it), and shares that his own job in textbooks is extremely boring but at least he doesn’t have to work on weekends. 

The small talk is light and filled with bad puns, because apparently that’s Harry’s specialty - and he looks both shocked and delighted whenever Louis laughs at them. When eventually the time draws near that Louis knows he’s being kicked out, he tries not to prolong it. 

“We should, um, exchange numbers. In case you find something I’ve left here later or something.” Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket (surprised it hasn’t fallen out somewhere during the course of the night) only to look at the screen and realise it’s dead. “Oh… Shit, do you have a charger?”

“Not for that,” Harry says, grabbing his own phone off of the low table next to the bed. Louis glances over and sees, to his horror, that Harry is holding an Android. A really, really old Android.

“Think my mum had that phone,” he comments. “Like, ten years ago.”

“Heeeeey,” Harry complains, clicking his phone on. “It still works fine! Here, I’ve got the Uber app and everything, let me get you a ride home at least.”

Louis accepts gratefully, not even sure where Harry’s apartment  _ is, _ and pockets his dead phone. He waits while Harry taps away and then is confused for a moment when Harry holds his phone out to him.

“For your number?” Harry asks, when Louis frowns. “I mean,  _ my _ phone still works…”

“Oh right, of course!” Louis takes it and adds himself in the contacts list with a slew of emojis he feels represents himself before handing it back. “Now I’m just going to have to figure out where I put my shoes…”

— 

Louis never thought he’d be one of those people waiting by the phone for a boy to call. Sure, “waiting by the phone” is a bit of a misnomer at this point because his phone is literally in his pocket, but the idea feels the same when he finds himself pulling it out of his pocket every couple minutes to check if he’s gotten a text. He curses the fact that he let his phone die in the first place. But also, who on earth still uses an Android phone in this day and age? (Well, Niall does. And Niall would kill him for saying that.)

The first day that passes with no text from Harry, Louis assumes he’s trying not to act to eager. The second day that passes, he starts to wonder whether that night was as good for Harry as it was for Louis. By the end of the third day, he’s decided Harry must have only been looking for a one-night fling, and didn’t know how to turn Louis down gently.

Which, rude. This is what Louis gets for letting himself fall for someone in a club that he’s never met before. He hadn’t gone in that night looking for anything other than a bit of partying and a bit of drink, and now he’s sort of wishing that that was all he had gotten out of it.

He should forget about Harry, he reasons with himself. He should stop pulling his phone out of his pocket just to feel the disappointment. It was a one-night-stand, and Louis knew that in the beginning. He just got too emotionally attached too fast, and this is clearly a sign that he needs to go out and have more of them. Get the man off of his mind. He’s got friends, he’s got a life, he doesn’t need a curly-haired angel of a man who refuses to send so much as a courtesy text.

He tries to busy himself instead. At work they’re trying to get a textbook done and to the publishers in time to be on the shelves for schools a year from now, which means Louis’s been working on fine tuning the margins and colours and other visual dynamics for the last few weeks. It becomes a little tedious but at least Louis can get lost in it. He makes an effort to get more regular hangouts with Steve and Niall, his closest friends, and pointedly does  _ not _ tell them about the cute boy from after Steve’s night out.

— 

“Mum,” Louis moans into the phone. “I’m dying.”

“I should hope not,” Louis’s mum, Jay, sounds like she’s in the middle of something but Louis could care less in this moment. “I mean, you promised you’d babysit this weekend.”

“I can’t babysit if I don’t make it that long!” Louis puts his head down on his desk and feels the cool wood against his forehead. Small blessings. “I’ve vomited the last two days mum, both times just after lunch. I thought it was something I ate but everything I ate yesterday I threw out just to be safe and now it’s happened again!” He gags at the horrible taste still lingering in his mouth. “I just want to go home and  _ sleep _ mum, I don’t want to be here any longer!”

“My poor baby,” Jay coos, sounding at least motherly-levels of sympathetic. “Call off work if you really need it, and don’t be afraid to vomit in your manager’s face if you need to convince him.”

“Her,” Louis corrects. “And I don’t think I could do that. I feel fine  _ now, _ or at least I mostly do. And we’re coming down to the deadline with this season of textbooks, I can’t take off any more time!”

“You can if you need to,” she reminds him. “But I know how much you care about your work. Just don’t forget that taking care of yourself is more important. Do you want to come over tonight? I’m making coconut curry.”

The thought of coconut curry, normally one of his favourites, makes Louis feel a little queasy again. “Think I’m busy tonight actually. Niall wants me to come to trivia night with him, says he’s invited Melly and wants me to be his wingman.”

“Isn’t that the same girl he’s been after since you two were in sixth form?”

“The very same,” Louis smiles, picking his head off of his desk and wiping the oil mark from it. “Think she’s still just waiting for him to do the asking, but try convincing  _ him _ of that…”

“He’s scared, poor thing. Tell him I’m rooting for him. And don’t forget about babysitting so your father and I can finally get a date night to ourselves!”

“Ooh mum, you do sound like you’re getting a little desperate,” Louis laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s written in the calendar and everything. Now, I should probably go so I have have two hands free to edit this page I’m working on.”

“Love you baby,” his mum blows him a kiss over the phone. “And get some rest!”

“Love you bye,” Louis says, tapping the button to end the call and putting the phone down. Maybe he’s just been feeling queasy because of the weather change. It’s made a very sudden dive from summer to fall outside and he’s heard that severe temperature change like that can do strange things to a person. Sure, he’s never been one to be particularly affected by the weather but he’s  _ old _ now (the big 2-8) and who knows what his body has decided to do without his permission?

— 

The pub is packed when Louis arrives. He’s come straight from work because he ended up working an extra hour to make up for the time he spent feeling sorry for himself earlier in the afternoon. Niall and Melly are already seated in their favourite corner booth and Louis slides in next to them, grabbing a crisp off of Niall’s plate and popping it into his mouth.

“I put sriracha on those,” Niall warns and Louis spits it back out before shooting Niall a scandalized look. 

“You’re disgusting,” Louis complains. “You haven’t even ordered me halloumi yet, have you? I thought our friendship  _ meant _ something!”

“It’s on its way, stop your complaining.” Niall rolls his eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re predictable.”

“That’s number one on the list of things you should never say to a girl. Isn’t that right, Melly?” Louis winks at Melly, who’s been staring off at the screen on the wall of the pub that’s been flashing random questions to try to get customers interested in the quiz that would start soon.

“Absolutely,” she says without missing a beat. “Niall, you’ll never snag yourself much of anybody if you keep being so insulting.” She steals one of his crisps and Niall just sort of looks at her fondly as she does it.

Louis leans over onto Niall’s shoulder and repeats, “disgusting,” into his ear. Niall slaps him on the shoulder.

The questions for the quiz tonight are the normal random mix of questions everybody knows the answer to and questions nobody could possibly know. The three of them have done pub quizzes together for years and are still, more or less, absolute shit. Niall seems to have aspirations of entering a national competition, and Louis cannot for the life of him fathom how Niall has gotten that idea into his head, when they got only a third of the questions right last week and ended up putting “bees” for three separate answers.

The last question tonight flashes up on the screen as the announcer, in a welsh accent so strong Louis’s had to struggle to understand all night, reads it out. “What are three of the beginning signs of pregnancy?”

Louis and Niall both look Melly.

“What?” Melly asks, eyes wide. “You think I know? Do I  _ look _ like a child has squeezed between these hips?”

“Do I look like there’s been one between mine?” Louis asks, making a motion more synonymous with  _ suck my dick _ than  _ birthing my child. _

“I mean, men can get pregnant,” Melly argues and Louis snorts. “Oh hush, Tomlinson. You know the stories.”

“What, that if you find your soulmate then either one of you can get pregnant? Somehow, I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Me nan knew someone who did that once,” Niall interjects. “She said back when she was a child, it was how her neighbor knew his husband was sleeping around. Caused a right fuss in the town.”

“Okay but that’s, like, one in every billion couples. Somehow, I don’t think it’s realistic.”

“I’m just saying,” Melly huffs. “Equality.”

“Still doesn’t help with the question though,” Louis points out. “My mum was always throwing up when she was pregnant, that’s definitely one of them.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a big one,” says Niall. “And they pee a lot, right?”

“Put down sensitive boobs, for the last one,” Melly says as Niall scribbles it down. “I think that’s a thing.”

“You mean  _ breasts?” _ Louis clarifies. “Boobs doesn’t sound very official.”

“They’re as official as I want them to be, I’m the one who has them,” Melly argues. “Put boobs, Niall.”

Niall puts boobs.

— 

Louis’s got a good routine down in life. He’s got a steady job and good friends and a family filled with screaming sisters who take up a whole lot of his time (and phone battery, with how much they like to send him memes). He likes to spend a good Friday night at the pub with his mates but he almost never has the drive to spend the night partying in a club. It’s just not his style.

He’s also honestly been really tired lately. He’s never been the type to fall asleep at work before, but his co-worker Courtney has had to nudge him awake  _ twice _ in the last week when she’s come to ask him a printing question and found him fast asleep. It’s  _ embarrassing _ and even his extra-strong teas aren’t helping.

So when Steve approaches him for another club night, Louis doesn’t feel all that bad about turning him down.

**Louis:** _Next time, man_ **  
** **Louis:** _Ill make it up to you_

 **Steve:** _Make it up to me by not cancelling_  
 **Steve:** _jk bro ilu_  
 **Steve:** _But seriously it’s been months since we partied together!! I miss you man!!_

 **Louis:** _Pretty sure it’s been less than 2 months_ **  
** **Louis:** _Wait until the textbook rush is over and I’ll go dance to all your horrible music_

 **Steve:** _Not horrible_  
 **Steve:** _I have great taste_  
 **Steve:** _you love me_

 **Louis:** _keep telling yourself that_

 **Steve:** _:*_

 **Louis:** _You use emojis like an old man and I’m ashamed of you_

It’s definitely been less than two months, because as much as Louis would like to pretend that he doesn’t know the exact day he met Harry, that particular piece of information has stuck in his head. He doesn’t feel the pull to check his phone when he thinks of his name though; he’s long given up on that. It’s ridiculous, because he’s never felt so affected by a person, so he continues to clamp down on that particular emotion and pretend like nothing happened that night. Just another club night. That’s all.

It’s been a little over a week since the nausea started. Louis doesn’t think he can blame it on some dodgy chicken anymore, with the fact that every afternoon he finds himself running for the toilets, and he’s tried googling for things but all he keeps finding are websites on lactose intolerance or acid reflux, which really doesn’t fit with his symptoms.

His mum’s told him to make a doctor’s appointment, and he originally thought that was a little over the top, but this morning he gave up and made the call. Selfishly - and he will never admit this to  _ anyone _ for as long as he lives - it’s so that he can also ask the doctor why, after having a clear face for almost ten years, he’s suddenly started breaking out. All over his face… And his back. He’s not about to go back to his middle school year again, life is too short for that.

He manages to get an appointment squeezed in during lunch hour, which is good because he really doesn’t want to have to take time off work. Niall gives him a grumpy face when Louis tells him he’s cancelling on their weekly Wednesday lunches but Louis will show up to quiz night in a few days and Niall will have forgiven him.

The doctor’s office is sterile and bright, the overhead lights buzzing at just the right frequency to let you know they’re there. The waiting room is full of the kinds of children’s toys that would entertain a toddler and no one older, but there’s a couple of kids covertly fighting over some multicolored blocks. They remind Louis of his littlest siblings, and he’s suddenly tempted to facetime his mum to see if they’re nearby. He pulls up his mum’s instagram to find pictures of them, thankful that she documents anything and everything they do even though they’re numbers six and seven and a lot of mums tend to slow down on the documentation after kids one and two.

“Louis Tomlinson?”

He looks up from his scrolling to see a nurse beckoning him from the doorway and hastens to follow her, pocketing his phone. She takes him back to another equally bright and sterile looking room and tells him to make himself comfortable on the paper-covered bed.

He’s left alone for another couple minutes so he scrolls mindlessly through his phone a bit more, trying to ignore the way his stomach is giving him that familiar queasy feeling.

The door opens and a strict-looking woman with a clipboard and white coat comes in, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She informs him that she’s Doctor Crofts, and that she’ll be performing his examination. She makes him go through his list of symptoms again - even though he wrote them on the chart  _ and _ explained them to the woman on the phone earlier - and does a number of preliminary tests, including a blood draw that Louis blanches at, explaining that she wants to test for possibilities such as anemia and low blood sugar.

She tells him his blood sugar is normal and he’s not exhibiting any immediate give-aways that would lead her to a conclusion, so they’ll give him a call once they’ve run a few tests on his blood. When she leaves the room Louis breathes out a sigh of relief; doctor’s visits always feel a bit like being called down to the headmaster’s in school, he feels like he’s going to get a telling off.

He throws up in the toilets before he leaves the doctor’s but goes back to work afterwards, having thought ahead and brought a toothbrush and toothpaste.

— 

The call from the doctor’s office comes right before Louis is meant to get off work (not that he would actually have left, too invested in the water cycle chapter that he’s editing illustrations for. 

“Mr. Tomlinson, we’d like for you to come in at your earliest availability for us to re-run a test. We’ve received an unusual result and would like to do a follow-up.”

“Um, right,” Louis fumbles to bring up his calendar on his computer. “I’ve got- I can come in tomorrow, same time? Is this something I should be concerned about?”

“It’s nothing negative, Mr. Tomlinson. We’ve scheduled for tomorrow at the same time, and will send you a reminder text. Thank you for your time.”

They hang up and Louis feels like he’s being punked. Nothing negative? What does that even  _ mean? _


	2. The Revelation

He doesn’t sleep particularly well that night. Part of that is stress, thinking about his doctor’s appointment the next day (his mum always said worry means you suffer twice but worry, it turns out, isn’t something that’s easy to  _ stop _ doing). Part of it, though, is that for some reason his nipples are  _ horribly sensitive. _ He’s a tummy sleeper, has been for years, but he finds that whenever he rolls onto his stomach he suddenly jolts awake again and has to roll back onto his side. It’s  _ torture _ and the more it happens the more he wants to cry. He’s never been particularly sensitive in that department and he’s now finding that they’re incredibly perky and sensitive and he can do nothing to convince them to be otherwise. It feels like the early hours of the morning by the time he finds a solution, in placing his biggest pillow under his stomach and the other one under his head, so that his chest is more or less suspended between them. It’s not the most comfortable but he’s so desperate he could sleep on a Tesco floor if that’s what it took.

He comes into work the next morning and can’t even enjoy the fact that Courtney’s approved his water cycle illustration, tired to the point of simply functioning.

When noon comes around he’s accomplished next to nothing and he leaves a bit early just because he can’t stand staring at his cubicle walls any longer. 

This time when he’s called back to see the doctor, she comes in with a clear plastic cup and Louis inwardly groans. What exactly are they testing for? Drugs? Probably.

He’s left alone in the exam room for much longer this time, to the point where he’s become bored of even scrolling through facebook looking for friends’ baby pictures (even the wrinkly ones look sort of cute to him today). A knock comes at the door again fifteen minutes later (Louis’s been keeping track) and two doctors come in this time, his normal severe bun woman and a second, kinder looking woman who introduces herself as Doctor McElroy.

“Louis Tomlinson?” the new doctor asks, holding out her hand for Louis to shake. He does so and they both take seats across from him (he doesn’t even remember there being two chairs in here earlier). 

“We had you come back today because we witnessed what we thought originally was an abnormality in your test results,” Doctor McElroy tells him. “It’s customary to run multiple tests when this sort of thing comes up so as to not cause undue alarm, hence the urine test today.”

Contrary to what the doctor is saying, Louis is still alarmed. “Is everything… normal?”

“Everything is perfectly healthy,” the first doctor, Doctor Crofts assures him. “Normal may not be how you would describe it, though. We found some elevated hormones in your blood that weren’t expected, and are very rarely found in males.”

“Right…” Louis thinks that’s not really what constitutes normal.

“So we ran the urine test,” DOctor McElroy cuts in. “Which confirmed our findings. Now, you can choose to get a second opinion, but the tests are fairly positive…”

“A second opinion of  _ what?” _ Louis cuts in, wishing they would get to the point so he could stop jumping to ridiculous scenarios. Like he’s an alien. Or he’s -

“You’re pregnant.”

The world swims in front of his eyes for a moment before Louis barks out a laugh. “You can’t be…”

“We are serious,” Doctor McElroy hands over a chart that Louis takes and looks down at, not that he can really interpret it, all scientific words and percentages.

“There’s a hormone in your blood now that’s almost twenty times what it should be,” one of the doctors gently explains. “And the presence of another hormone - this one here - that only occurs in very rare cases such as these, which is in place entirely to boost the production of the other one. You’re familiar, I assume, with the concept of soulmates?”

“You’re having a laugh,” Louis says. soulmates are something that happens to a friend of a friend of a co-worker. It’s stories that are passed around after a few pints at the pub, and it’s never someone you actually know. 

“According to the tests,” Doctor Crofts hedges, “You look to be about seven weeks along. Does that match up with a timeline of some kind for you?”

A timeline-

Louis feels faint.

He also feels like vomiting but that’s nothing new.

Seven weeks. He knows what happened seven weeks ago. He knows it like a memory of a hazy cloudy night where the moon peeks through the clouds at just the perfect time and you feel the world go completely still and peaceful, for only a moment before the crickets and cicadas and droning traffic make themselves heard again. He knows that night like a port in a storm, a moment that he remembers with clarity even as the rest of the world around him feels misty and out of focus.

Shit.

He leaves the doctor’s office a half hour later with pamphlets. So many pamphlets. And a new doctor, since Doctor McElroy is apparently the only doctor in the area who’s ever dealt with male pregnancy before. He’s been told that  _ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _ is a good book to check out, even if certain parts won’t apply to him. He’s got an appointment scheduled in a week as the first of what he assumes will be many check-ups, and for the first time in months he’s considering calling in sick instead of going back to work.

He doesn’t, though. He ends up back in his cubicle again, staring listlessly at diagrams of stratocumulus and cumulonimbus clouds because he needs something to do, something to take his mind off of things.

(It doesn’t work, not really, but he stays at work until five as normal and at least  _ pretends _ he’s not having an emotional breakdown).

Whenever he tries to think about everything all at once, he feels like vomiting (which he hasn’t done today, for the first time in a while at least). There’s too much for him to consider at once, and it’s like the weight of the world is bearing down on his shoulders.

Does he tell his mum first? Now? Later? Does he tell his siblings or wait? Does he tell Niall? Steve? Has he drunk alcohol in the last seven weeks? Does it matter? He’s going to need to buy new clothes. He’ll need to change everything. His house. He needs a baby room.

He is keeping it, right?

He blanches at that one, paling at the thought of  _ not _ keeping it. It’s still an  _ it _ to him and he thinks it should be easy to give up, thinks he should be able to think about this rationally, but he’ll keep it. Right?

Right. That one’s not even a question, really.

He’ll need baby furniture. How will he pay for diapers? How do people sign up for daycares, preschool? What’s a good preschool? How will he afford baby formula? He can’t breastfeed, he was informed. He’s just going to have needlessly sensitive nipples. He’s going to get swollen ankles. He’s going to get weird stretchmarks. Why is it that that pub night he couldn’t think of any symptoms and yet now suddenly he’s able to picture every problem his mum ever had? He’s going to be tired and cranky for nine months and he’s going to need to pee all the time because Tomlinson babies sit on bladders like it’s their calling in life, or at least that’s what his mum has said a  _ million times- _

And he’s been avoiding the soulmate part of the worrying all day.

He leaves with nothing to show for his time at work except for a quick e-mail sent to Courtney apologising for his lack of progress and citing personal issues for the cause. The drive home he’s so distracted that he almost runs into a cat, and he has to pull over to the kerb because he immediately starts crying at the thought that he could have  _ hurt _ it, even as it runs safely to the author side of the road.

When he finally gets home, his flat feels weird and different, like the very walls are screaming at him that he needs to get his life together now,  _ today, _ because he’s about to have to care for another one and  _ oh god  _ he’s just remembered isn’t sleeping on your stomach bad for the little one? He’s going to hurt it just because he rolls over in his sleep!

He sits on the couch in his darkened living room and the tears run down his face before he even realises that they’re there. At some point he lays down. The setting sun takes away the last of the light and Louis falls asleep right where he is, at a loss for what’s supposed to happen next.

— 

It’s two days later that Niall corners him. They were supposed to go out for lunch but Louis bailed, his text so vague even  _ Louis _ isn’t sure what his excuse is supposed to be.

Niall works two buildings down, their buildings sharing a parking lot, and Louis thinks maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when he walks out at the end of the day to see Niall leaning against the hood of his car.

“Louis!” Niall throws his arm around Louis’s shoulder takes his key from him. “You’re not doing anything tonight, right? That’s what I thought. Come on, we’re going to the pub. You owe me and I miss you and I think there’s something you’ve neglected to tell me.”

Louis hangs his head. It’s not that he thought he would get away with hiding things from Niall, not after how long they’ve known each other, but he’s still drowning in unknowns at the moment and he’s convinced himself that including anyone else in this little secret will just triple the amount of questions he needs to find answers to.

Still, he  _ wants _ Niall to know. He needs to get this off his chest, and maybe Niall can bond with Melly and become godparents together and they’ll finally get together and have beautiful fake-blond children running around-

As Louis follows Niall to his car, he surreptitiously wipes the beginning of a tear from his eye at the idea of Niall having children. They’d be beautiful. He’s pretty sure he’s not even supposed to be emotional like this yet from the hormones but this could also just as easily be blamed on lack of sleep at this point.

Niall drives them to the same pub they always go to, and automatically orders two pints for them (Louis  _ loves _ a pint and Niall ordering it means he’s offering to pay and Louis feels so guilty when it gets put in front of him and he knows he can have none of it.

“So,” Niall says after taking a swig. “Talk. What’s gone wrong?”

“Why do you assume something’s gone wrong?” Louis asks, his mind grasping for how on earth to explain this.

“Louis. You’re one of the most predictable people I know. You don’t cancel on things. You don’t change plans. You also keep tearing up, I don’t know why you think I haven’t noticed that. Is someone sick?”

“No,” Louis says, staring forlornly at his drink. “I mean. I threw up again today. But no. Um. Yeah. No.”

“Right…” Niall looks incredibly concerned. “So. You keep throwing up. But you’re not sick.”

“I... “ Louis doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to say it. Eventually, he reaches down into his work satchel and pulls out one of the fliers that didn’t make it onto his living room floor (there  _ are _ a lot of them) and hands it over to Niall.

“You…” Niall scans down the sheet. “You knocked someone up? I really didn’t think you swung that way-”

“I’m pregnant, Niall!” Louis grits out, before flopping face-down onto the table. 

He can hear Niall laugh for a second before abruptly stopping himself. “Hey, really?” he asks, voice soft. “That’s really cool! Who’s the lucky guy?”

Right to the hard part. Damn. “His name’s Harry,” Louis mumbles, not looking up. 

Niall cards a hand through Louis’s hair, soothing. “And how come you haven’t mentioned this stranger before? Oh wait, is he a tosser? Do I need to go shank a bitch?”

“What the fuck,” Louis mumbles into his arms. “Niall are you a thirteen year old girl. No. He’s not a tosser.” Which still felt a little up for debate if Louis thought about it too much, since Harry didn’t ever text him back and that still hurt more than a bit, but on the other hand he was only the most gentlemanly in person and that’s the Harry that will stick in his mind. “He just- it was a one time thing. Weeks ago. I didn’t think I would ever hear from him again.” He straightens back up and looks over at Niall, who is giving him a sympathetic look.

“So, you had a one-time thing with a guy who I assume is your soulmate, and now you’ve come home with an extra souvenir.”

“That’s crude, but more or less, yeah.”

“So… are you gonna tell him?”

“Fuck, I don’t know! He didn’t even text! He was lovely and wonderful and made good omelettes and the coffee was a little shit but he smelled good and laughed a lot.”

“Sorry, so you’re not sure if you’re going to tell him if he’s the dad or not because he didn’t text you back?” Niall clarifies.

Louis glares at him. “You make me sound unreasonable.”

Niall takes a long sip of his pint and then, after Louis can practically  _ see _ the gears whirring in his head, takes Louis’s pint and drinks from that as well. “Well, you’re knocked up. You’re supposed to be unreasonable, right?”

“That’s mighty chauvinistic of you I think,” Louis says. “And anyway, I feel like there are  _ bigger _ issues here. Niall, I have no idea what to  _ do!” _

Niall looks like he’s thoughtfully pondering for a moment (taking more sips from both pint glasses). “Well… are you going to keep it?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “I mean. That’s the only thing I have figured out. And I think I might be crazy for thinking it, since I’m totally unprepared. At least girls grow up dreaming of this stuff, you know? I thought maybe adoption one day, if I was married, but this sort of bypasses all of that!”

“So you’re taking a preemptive step,” Niall says. “Okay. You know what? I have no answers for you. Except get more sleep, I think you need it.”

“Thanks,” says Louis drily. “You try sleeping with nipples as sensitive as these traitors.” He motions to his chest and Niall snorts into his drink.

“You know what we need? A girl. I’ll call Melly.”

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” Louis takes the phone away that Niall’s just pulled out of his pocket. “First of all, I haven’t even told my  _ mum _ yet, you’re not about to go spreading this to the world. Second of all, she’s never been pregnant! How would that help? No. You’re going to get me a ginger beer so I can pretend like my life is normal, and we’re going to get fake smashed, and I will make absolutely no life decisions tonight. Okay?”

Niall grins.  _ “You’re _ getting fake smashed, maybe. I’m finishing these two and ordering something stronger. My best mate is having a baby!”

— 

Everything feels a little better when it’s said out loud, Louis thinks later. He’s still a hot mess and doesn’t see himself recovering form that any time soon, but the chance to talk things through with Niall has certainly helped him to think a little more… rationally. Or something. He’s able to get through more or less a week of work without going insane, instead taking to texting Niall every single question or thought about the  _ situation _ that comes into his head.

**Louis:** _What if it’s a girl?_  
 **Louis:** _What if it’s NOT a girl?_

 **Niall:** _What is that even supposed to mean_

 **Louis:** _What if it wants to do ballet?_  
 **Louis:** _What if it’s allergic to peanuts?_  
 **Louis:** _What if it wants a puppy? How do I say no?_ _  
_ **Louis:** _What if it never lets me sleep?_

 **Niall:** _What if u drain my battery so much that I cant play flappy bird_ _  
_ **Niall:** _What then_

He sort of coasts for a week, still full of emotions and questions without answers, although some are becoming more important than others. It’s the following Wednesday that his first ‘official’ checkup is scheduled and he’s more than a little worried, but it goes by pretty smoothly. He gets a little dizzy when his blood is drawn, and he’s told that he should probably cut back on the caffeinated tea a bit (questionable) but he leaves feeling just the slightest bit more confident in the situation.

For the first time in a long time he’s taken the afternoon off of work, and so when he  gets out of the appointment he’s still got an extra three hours or so before he’s generally get home.

It’s a plan that he hasn’t really thought out, is the thing. He took the afternoon off specifically because he needed to keep himself from backing out, and now that the afternoon is actually  _ here _ he’s still rather considering just going home and taking an extra long nap. Naps are all he seems to do these days, still feeling terribly weary after he’s woken up.

He’s got a destination plugged into his phone though, and he’s spent all morning convincing himself that this is what needs to be done. The only time he almost successfully talks himself out of it is when he thinks about how his mum still doesn’t know yet, and maybe he should tell her first.

No, he thinks to himself. This is the one person who should come before his mum. No matter what Harry thinks of the situation, he deserves to have the opportunity to be involved.

The closer he drives to the centre of town, the more everything looks blustery and orange tinted, the way fall is supposed to look. It’s mid-October and it’s finally starting to feel like it, with the changing colours on the trees and the way the wind picks up with a chill most mornings.

The Museum of Childhood stands a proud stone in the middle of the busiest part of the city, next to the library and across the street from an old looking coffee shop with a crooked sign reading  _ Heavenly Cup. _ Louis parks down the road at the nearest Pay and Display, and in order to put this off as long as possible he ends up in the coffee shop long enough to buy a decaf tea latte (because regular tea from coffee shops just aren’t worth the price).

He walks across the square in the direction of the museum  _ slowly, _ sipping his tea and hunching his shoulders ever so slightly as the wind nips at his cheeks. The Museum of Childhood is one of the busiest landmarks around, competing for traffic with the library across from it. It’s a popular spot for parents to take their young children since the bottom level is “interactive”, with the upper floors acting more as an actual museum. Louis spent a good few weekends here as a child himself, never quite being one to hide among the books in the library across the street, and he’s spent years staring at his phone as his younger siblings repeated the tradition.

Inside the front doors he pauses, not sure exactly where to go. Where does a Rare Artifacts Curator actually work in a museum? They probably don’t just prowl around the aisles all day looking for dust to wipe off.

He ends up going up to the help desk, feeling very awkward, and stands with his hands wrapped tightly around his drink as the receptionist finishes a text of some kind, completely unaware of his surroundings.

When the receptionist does  look up he only has a mild amount of interest in whatever Louis is doing here. Louis pauses awkwardly, waiting for the receptionist to say something, some sort of greeting. The receptionist does not say anything. He stares back. Louis begins to feel like this is some sort of test.

Eventually what comes out of his mouth is, “Does Harry work here?”

The receptionist frowns at him. “Um, we don’t give out personal information.” His voice is flat, uninterested.

Louis inwardly cringes. “I’m not looking for personal information,” he says. “I’m looking for, um, he’s a Rare Books Curator.”

The receptionist gives him a look like he knows what Louis is trying to do, even though Louis himself isn’t even sure what he’s trying to do at this point.

He tries  to act like it's completely normal that he has no idea what Harry’s last name is. Why didn’t he think of that?  _ Why didn't you think to ask even such a simple question as what his last name was? _ He works to compose himself, slowly taking a sip of his cooling tea. He ignores the fact that he probably looks like a complete nutter to this poor receptionist.

(Not poor, scratch that, the receptionist is a bit of a jerk and Louis doesn’t feel bad at all).

He's also looking at Louis as if he’s a bit crazy, but Louis decides this is one of those times when he needs to just give a determined look and saunter on. "The Rare Artifacts Curator? I'm supposed to meet him today. For a meeting."

The receptionist turns to his computer, grumbling a bit. He does actually type something in, clicking around a bit. Louis is paying way too much attention. He works to distract himself, glancing up around the ceiling at a pair of airplanes suspended above them.

“He doesn't look like he's in any meetings today,” the receptionist says.

“It was something new,” Louis bluffs. “Very last minute. We only talked on the phone about an hour ago.”

He feels like he shouldn't have to bluff this hard just to meet with a museum curator. Like, this isn't MI5.

“Okay, hold on a moment.” The receptionist sighs, sounding resigned. Like he's just not paid enough to do this. “Let me just give him a ring and I'll figure it out.”

Louis waits, trying to look like he's on top of things, like he’s a professional who’s supposed to be here. What kind of meeting would a museum curator even have?

The receptionist dials a short code on his phone and a minute later Louis can hear someone pick up on the other end, their voice low enough that he can’t make out any more than a low mumur.

"Yes, Mr. Styles? "

Styles! Is that his name? What a weird name. Very weird. Oh God. It's his baby going to have the last name Styles? That sounds ridiculous. That sounds like a stripper. Oh, fuck no.

The receptionist has said quite a bit while Louis has had yet another small breakdown. Lovely. He's going to get through this. He is. Someday. With work, he tunes back in to what the receptionist is saying.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll let him know.”

The receptionist puts down his phone, none too gently, and turns back to Louis. “He says he'll meet you in the cafeteria, at the red tables near the back.” He still looks entirely bored, as if this mysterious man who may have just make a complete arse of himself really is of zero interest to him. Maybe he's not, Louis thinks hopefully. Maybe he just looks like a normal man going about his day not being weird or strange in any way.

He nods to the man, and does a sort of weird wave as he turns and walks towards where he knows the cafeteria to be. It's around the corner, just past the tickets area where he'll have to actually swipe his membership card. Good thing he has one! Good thing his mum has insisted on renewing his membership every single year even though he's way too old to actually have any sort of interest in a museum full of toys that entertain his seven-year-old siblings. Good thing.

He grabs out of his bag, feeling thankful that he came prepared and packed his membership card as he swipes it. He takes a left towards the cafeteria and almost runs into a group of several school children wearing red smocks running about with their arms linked in a serpentine. They're adorable, even when one does trod on his toes.

The cafeteria is organized  by different color tables, in order to help parents and teachers keep track of their children. The red section is in the back left corner, closest to one of the most delicious sandwich shops Louis has ever experienced. Of course, being in a museum, they are incredibly terribly expensive and nobody actually has the money to get such a sandwich more than once a year. Plus, Louis still has hold of his coffee. 

He definitely doesn't see Harry anywhere, glancing around himself as he takes a seat. There's actually no adults around in the red area at all and he sort of wonders if Harry was somewhere where he was able to tell that when he was speaking to the receptionist. O

Oh, did Louis even tell the receptionist his name? He didn't, did he? Harry doesn’t even know who he’s meeting here. This was not a good plan, and Louis should definitely leave.

He’s sat down at the table all the way in the back so that he can get a look at the whole cafeteria, but he also doesn’t want to look too much like he’s anxiously waiting for Harry to show up (which he is). The tea latte in his hands is turning cold but he starts drinking from it again anyway, just for something to do with his hands. He doesn’t want to get out his phone and start scrolling through a feed either, because that might make it look like he isn’t invested in this. Either way, even this decaf tea is making him feel jittery at this point. Or maybe it’s just the situation.

It can’t be more than a few minutes of Louis staring forlornly at his to-go cup when someone sits down at the table across from him. Louis’s head snaps up and he sees, to his disappointment, someone he doesn’t recognise. Are there multiple Rare Artifact Curators? Or, did Harry lie about his position? Or maybe this is a secretary?

Whatever the reason, this guy looks nothing like his Harry of two months ago. He’s got short brown hair, combs back with what looks like a bit of product to make it stick. There are thick, round lenses on his face and he’s wearing an argyle sweater vest over a plain collared shirt. He looks, well, a little bit of a nerd.

“Louis?” the man says, a layer of shock evident in his voice. Louis feels as though someone has cracked an egg over his head. A cold, trickling feeling of both confusion and realisation. The man’s voice is deep, and familiar in a way that takes Louis back to a sweaty club and soft sheets and the feeling of arms wrapped around him. 

“Harry?” Louis asks, feeling lost. The more he studies the man’s face the more he’s convinced that it’s definitely Harry, the same jawline he sucked bruises into and the same green eyes. But… his hair had reached down past his shoulders that night, wonderful cascades of curls that seem to have been replaced with a short cut that’s slicked back. 

Louis isn’t one to judge by appearance (or at least, he tries not to be), but he is one to be confused by it.

“Hey, yeah. That’s me,” Harry says, a note of apology in his voice. “Um, Louis! I’ll admit, of all the people I thought might be trying to lie their way in to get a meeting here, I didn’t think you’d be one of them!”

“Um,” Louis says.

_ Do people often lie to get a meeting with museum personnel? _

“I know this isn’t exactly what I, um, looked like the last time you saw me,” Harry says with just the slightest bit of a tremor in his voice. “I, um, I tend to let my friends help out when I’m going  _ out, _ you know? I’m just, not very good with fashion. Funny, that. I’m sure- um, I can leave, if you want?”

Louis frowns, well and truly frowns because he feels like Harry has just had a conversation with him that he wasn’t a part of. Plus, the longer he spoke the more he hunched in on himself, his glasses slipping to the end of his nose as he drew in.

“No?” Louis says, because he has no idea what to say. “I mean, I feel like I’ve missed something here. I’m not sure why you’re trying to leave? Or - why I should want you to leave?”

Harry hasn’t looked up yet, but Louis notes his face is turning pink. “Because - because I’m sure I’m not what you expected. I’m not, like, this really cool person who everyone likes, exactly, like I’ve got friends and stuff but that night at the club was, like, an exception to me? I let my sister dress me up because we were going out for drinks for her birthday and it’s just, it’s not who I normally am.”

“So,” Louis thinks out loud. “Correct me if I’ve got this wrong, but you’re afraid that I’ve come out here to see you but that because you don’t look like you did that night that I’ll change my mind?”

Harry nods, a little too enthusiastically and his glasses nearly bounce off his face (he pushes them back on hurriedly and Louis has a lot on his mind right now but even so he finds that little movement adorable, the way he pushes them up the bridge of his nose.

“I know you, um, gave me your number. But I felt like it was lying to just start texting you and pretend like I’m this cool guy who goes to clubs all the time and has, well, an actual sense in fashion. It’s not who I am.” He looks so miserable that Louis wants to reach across the table and reassure him that everything’s okay, but a thought is worming its way to the front of his mind and it’s making him feel a little sick.

“Did you— What part of that wasn’t real?” Louis asks, his voice thick. “I mean, was inviting me over just part of your pretending too?” He knew going into this that he  _ didn’t _ know just what Harry’s feelings for him actually were, but it suddenly feels like a new weight on his shoulders that Harry might have just been playing a part of some kind in taking him home.

“No, no absolutely not!” Harry almost yells, looking Louis in the eyes for the first time. “That was— incredible, honestly Louis. One of the best nights of my life.”

Louis wants to laugh and cry all at once. “So you didn’t ever text me, even though it was one of the best nights of your life, because you were afraid I wouldn’t like the way you dress the next morning? While I just thought that you didn’t like me in the first place.”

“You thought—” Harry groans, putting his hands to his face. “No, Louis, god no! It was all I could think about. It’s still, um, a lot of what I think about, to be honest.”

Louis runs one hand through his own hair, feeling like this relationship built on miscommunication has gone nowhere fast. “Well,” he says. “I guess I’m going to start this off by saying I think your glasses look very cute, and your sweater vest looks both functional and soft.”

“It is,” Harry mumbles through his fingers. “But you don’t have to say that, really.”

“No, I mean it!” Louis squeaks. Boldly, he reaches out and takes one of Harry’s wrists, pulling his hand away from his face. “Listen, just truths from here on out, okay? I promise. I just, um, I have something I really need to tell you and I feel like there’s so many assumed thoughts about each other here that I want to dispel a few of them. Okay?” He waits for Harry to nod before continuing. “Okay. Good. So, first of all that night was absolutely amazing and right, I was pretty upset that you didn’t text. So I’d like to start that over and get your number. But also, I think you look very cute today, just in a different way. Only truth, Harry. Right?”

Harry’s cheeks are pink again (or still) and he hasn’t moved the arm that Louis’s fingers are still encircling. “Right…”

“So, like I said, I have something I need to talk to you about, and I couldn’t text you because I wasn’t lucky to get  _ your _ number, but I’m wondering if we can maybe do it somewhere a little bit more private than this cafeteria. Maybe in the historical toys part of the museum, upstairs? I feel like nobody actually goes up there.”

“Heeeeey,” Harry complains, his face turning into a pout. “Plenty of people love the history of toys! But if you’re looking for somewhere more private, um, I do have an office?”

“That would be lovely,” Louis breathes out, glad to think he’s not going to be around the smells of the cafeteria any longer. His sense of smell has been incredibly sensitive the last couple days and there’s some sort of fish salad special today that’s making him feel like he’s going to vomit any minute.

Harry gets up and, just as gentlemanly as Louis remembers him being, offers Louis a hand up as well. He leads Louis out from the cafeteria to an elevator marked  _ Employees Only, _ swiping a key card hanging on a lanyard around his neck. “My office is on the top floor,” Harry explains to him as they wait. “It’s not big, really, but I do have a kettle for tea. Not that you need tea, I’m sure, because you’ve got that cup. Um. But if you do.”

“I’m actually running low,” Louis says, “If you have anything without caffeine…?”

“Ooh, I have all sorts of green and herbal teas,” Harry says as they step into the elevator and he hits the button for the fifth floor. “I’ve got an especially lovely blueberry white tea, or a citrus ginger?”

Louis hates herbal teas but he likes that Harry cares. “Maybe a, um, a green tea. Something not too fruity?” he asks hopefully.

“I have some plain green too,” Harry says. “I’ll show you where I keep them and let you choose instead of having to listen to me try to list them all out.”

Harry leads them down a side corridor away from the regular foot flow, all the way to the end with a rather intimidating wooden door (as opposed to all the marbled glass ones they passed along the way). He puts his keycard to it and pushes it inward, beckoning for Louis to go before him.

When Louis enters the room the first thing he notes is how big it is, at least compared to his own cubicle at work. There are bookshelves lining three of the four walls (the fourth one entirely taken up by windows), and where there aren’t books there are toys, figurines and other knickknacks, none of which look like they’re not this century. There’s a nice big wooden desk right in the middle of the room with an old fashioned green lamp and a plaque (an  _ actual plaque) _ that reads STYLES in bold letters. 

Louis knows his mouth has been slightly agape, and he turns to Harry. “This is your office?”

Harry nods meekly. “I’ve just been here a long time, that’s all.”

Louis glances around again. “It’s… eclectic,” he decides, and then clarifies - “In a good way.”

Harry snorts. “Sure, that’s one of the nicer ways to describe this room.”

“I’m serious!” Louis exclaims. “It’s like just the right combination of  _ professor _ and  _ hipster, _ you know?”

“Neither of those are things I’ve ever been called before, but I’ll gladly take the titles,” Harry says, walking over to the desk and motioning for Louis to take a seat before flipping on the switch for the kettle.

Louis waits until Harry is also seated before trying to refocus himself. “So…”

“Yes,” Harry looks nervous again. “You said this is about the, um. That night.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and suddenly his mind is racing. Because this all feels too easy. What exactly is supposed to happen now - he announces to Harry that they’re soulmates and Harry just goes along with it? Drops everything in his life and says  _ yes Louis, I wasn’t expecting to have a child or even a boyfriend an hour ago but sure you can move in with me and we can raise  it lovingly together _ ? Sure, that’s some sort of pipe dream best-case scenario, but what about the other options? Harry saying that no, he doesn’t particularly want children. Doesn’t want to be involved. What if he’s repulsed? Sure, they’re apparently soulmates but what does that really mean? It’s like every single possible scenario is now crowding itself into Louis’s mind and most of them  _ aren’t good. _  He’s not able to deal with this heartache right now, not in the middle of everything. He can’t do this.

“I wanted to know if I could have your number,” is what he blurts out. “I mean, I don’t even know if you’re single. But um, if you are. I’d love to see you again?”

Harry’s eyes are wide, his mouth fallen open slightly. “Y-yes?” he stutters. “I mean— yes, I’m single. Yeah. Of course you can-”

Louis hands over his phone to stop Harry’s relentless chatter (which he is, inexplicably, endeared by) and Harry shakily taps it in before handing it back.

“This Saturday?” Louis asks. “I know you work weekends sometimes, but. If you’re free.”

“Yeah, of course!” Harry says, running a hand through his hair and messing up a select few strands. “I mean, no. I’m not working. That’d, um. That’d be lovely!”

Louis smiles. “Sure, Saturday then. I’ll text a time and place, alright?”

Harry smiles back, his eyes looking so huge behind his glasses, and his dimples showing up for the first time. 

Louis still feels that ball of worry in his stomach about what’s to come, but he hopes he can see that smile again soon.


	3. The Declaration

“You didn’t tell him.”

Niall gives Louis a look that says  _ dear lord boy why do you try my patience. _

“You know Niall, I can truthfully say it didn’t come up,” Louis says, sipping his apple juice through the straw. It’s an apple juice pouch kind of day.

Niall stares at him. “I can’t imagine,” he says. “The possibility of you being pregnant didn’t come up in regular conversation? Colour me shocked.”

“You speak like my mum,” Louis tells him snippily. 

“Have you told her yet?” 

“Well, no. I was waiting until I saw her this Sunday. I’m babysitting for the evening.”

Niall sighs. “I love you, but I wish I could live your life for you. All this waiting is driving me insane.”

“How do you think  _ I _ feel?” Louis chews on the straw absentmindedly. “I don’t have a plan in place for this, Niall. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Do you think I  _ ever _ have a plan in place?” asks Niall, popping a bit of pastry into his mouth. “Jump headfirst into everything, that’s my only plan. And It’s served me well! You should try it now. Call Harry. Tell him he’s having a baby.”

“First of all  _ no, _ second of all, that’s not your only plan. If it was, you definitely would have asked out Melly years ago and been married by now.”

“Oh fuck off,” Niall flicks the next bit of pastry in his hand at Louis. “That’s  _ different.” _

“Sure it is Niall,” Louis pats him on the back comfortingly. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

— 

Louis wakes up on Saturday with a bit of dread pooled in his gut but also a bit of hope and happiness at the thought of getting to see Harry again. So far, the two times he’s met the man (who is still, for the most part, a complete stranger) he’s been completely different. He has no idea what to expect today.

He’s texted Harry the name of a restaurant downtown, a nice little French bistro called Magnolia that’s not especially expensive and has the biggest macarons he’s ever seen. It’s just past six, which is the time he’d told Harry to meet him there, and he’s only just starting to get nervous.

He really doesn’t think Harry would just stand him up. But. He’s only met the man twice and there’s always the chance that he doesn’t know him as well as he thinks he does.

He’s only just started to work himself into a cold sweat when an ancient looking Mini Cooper putters into the lot. Louis watches as it pulls into a space and, sure enough thank the Lord, a minute later Harry comes stumbling out of the driver’s seat.

The sun has just set, and in the dim streetlights it takes a minute to figure out exactly what Harry’s wearing. He’s got dark skinny jeans on that it looks like would have taken ages to get on with how tight they look (and Louis might take just a moment to appreciate those thighs). His shirt looks like a red Hawaiian button-up, done all the way up to his chin, and his hair isn’t greased back, instead falling in short waves around his ears. 

He’s also got no glasses on.

This isn’t the Harry Louis met at the museum. This is the Harry from the club.

If it wasn’t for the fact that his hair is still about a foot shorter, Louis would assume there’s some sort of twin switching situation going on.

“Hello!” Harry calls when he sees Louis standing by the entrance. “So sorry! I got lost! I’ve never been here before and I hate to say it but I’m fairly bad with directions. So sorry. Poor old Melissa doesn’t do too well with left turns either, I really should talk to someone about that.”

Just as he’s walking up the steps to the entrance, he manages to trip and fall almost directly into Louis. Louis falls back against the wall behind him, sandwiched between Harry and the unyielding brick.

“Oh for  _ fuck’s sake,” _ Harry swears, teetering back.”Shit, I’m so sorry. My prescription may not be perfectly up to date and it’s a bit dark out here.” He reaches out and pulls Louis forward and away from the wall. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Oh dear I’m really  _ so _ sorry!”

Louis looks down and spies a pair of heeled chelsea boots on his feet. They look incredibly fashionable, but he distinctly remembers Harry wearing a pair of black loafers with bees on the backs of them back at the museum. 

“I’m fine,” he tells Harry, rubbing at his hip where it got unfortunately caught in the crossfire. He’s started having mild cramps, which he was told was normal, and this just feels like it’s going to exacerbate that pain. He reaches out and grabs Harry’s hand though, leading him inside.

Harry trips once more while they’re being led to their seat, this time thankfully not running into anyone. Louis doesn’t let go of his hand, partly because he rather fears he’s the reason Harry is still upright, and partly because his hand is large and rough and warm.

Louis orders french onion soup, because a lot of what’s on the menu involves fish and he still can’t keep straight which fish he’s allowed to eat while pregnant. Harry orders some incredibly french sounding dish that he asks for with perfect pronunciation that leaves Louis staring in amazement until Harry notices and blushes.

“I studied a lot of languages in my free time while I was at university,” he says. “It takes forever to get a museum studies degree.”

Louis briefly wonders what it would be like hearing Harry speak French in the bedroom. People say that’s sexy, but he sort of thinks he’s rather know what his partner is saying. Hmm, maybe Louis should learn French too… 

“Is that-” Harry continues on when Louis doesn’t say anything. “Sorry, is that okay? I wasn’t showing off, was I? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, of course not!” Louis laughs. “Sorry, I got distracted. You should speak French as much as you want, that takes a whole lot of work to learn, you should be proud!”

Harry ducks down, and Louis doesn’t miss the moment where he reaches up to the bridge of his nose, almost like he’s pushing up his glasses. “I do know German pretty well too…” he mumbles.

Louis grins. “I’ll have to look up a nice German beer garden then for next time.”

Bread and drinks are brought to their table, and Louis learns a lot about Harry.

He learns he's got a sister and a mum and dad back home in Cheshire and he learns that he moved out here because his greatest love is learning about history. He told Louis that he thinks history is what makes up the future and that everything, especially toys, used and played with in years past still has tremendous value for things in the future. Louis starts to think that he could spend hours listening to Harry speak. He get so wrapped up in asking him questions about his family, about his job, about his friends (a man called Liam primarily who apparently latched on to Harry in secondary school and Harry hasn't let go since) that he almost forgets the reason that they're out here. The soulmates thing. Probably, Harry learns about him too. But Louis might not notice. He's too wrapped up in learning all about this boy and wanting to know more. He feels like Harry is a piece of him that's been missing for a long time and has finally been put into place.

Maybe that's the hormones talking. He's told that could happen. But also, perhaps, that's a soulmate thing.

It's when they’re looking over the dessert menu but Louis finally asks. Harrys been rubbing at his eyes all during dinner, and Lou would be lying if you said he didn't notice the way harry continually tries to slick back his hair with his hand, even as it's a totally useless attempt and it continues to follow his eyes.

"Harry,” Louis says, trying to be tactful. “I don't think this is how you normally dress, is it?”

Harry, to his credit, looks a little bit ashamed. "No, it might not exactly… Be my normal mode of dress."

"And… Is this perhaps to do with me?" Louis asks, trying to sound… inquisitive, in a nice way. Definitely not like he doesn't like Harry's outfit, because that would be a lie. It's adorable and quirky in a way that Louis never thought he would appreciate. And yet here he is, feeling weirdly drawn to a red Hawaiian shirt. 

“I-it’s not like that!” Harry stutters (for the first time all night). Louis gives him a look though, and he concedes. “I mean, maybe a little.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Louis asks, trying to be gentle. “That I liked your outfit at the museum? That wasn’t a lie.”

“Yeah, you say that now,” Harry says, his voice almost a whine. “But that’s what everyone says at first. I just— didn’t want you to decide that I was too much…”

“Harry…” Louis reaches over and takes his hand, something he’s been wanting to do since he let go of it when they sat down to eat. “Is that what you’ve been told? That the way you dress is ‘too much’?”

Harry takes his free hand and rubs at his eyes, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s because of the contacts this time or because he’s as emotional as Louis is feeling. “I mean, they’re not always wrong. I’m not good at not sticking out.”

“So what?” Louis asks, frowning. “Listen, people might have told you a lot of shitty things. But I’m gonna tell you right now, yeah? I’m not like that. I want you in sweater vests and glasses that don’t hurt your eyes and okay your curls are adorable but if you like to comb then back then the next time I see you I want them to be combed back. Okay?”

Harry nods, eyes so wide his contacts could pop out. “I’m- I’m sorry I assumed. That was so rude of me, honestly.”

“No more apologising tonight,” Louis cuts him off. “Tell me more about something fun. Where’d you work before the museum?”

Louis and Harry end up staying until well after dessert is done and the check is paid for. Louis doesn’t want to go home, although he’s beyond exhausted. Harry seems to take notice after the fifth or so time Louis covers a yawn.

“Oh no, it’s so late! We should go, you look like you really need sleep.”

He managed to bump into only a few things as he gets up and hurries over to help Louis up. Louis smiles, completely charmed even as Harry stumbles over his own feet as they leave hand in hand.

“Will you, um, text me so I know you’ve gotten home safely?” Harry asks as they separate in front of his car.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis says. He wants to reach up and kiss Harry, but feels almost like it’s too soon. Which is ridiculous, because he’s got his baby growing inside of him- 

Shit.

How the fuck did he forget that he has Harry’s baby growing inside of him? It’s not even that he forgot, exactly, so much that he forgot that it’s a pressing issue that he needs to make Harry aware of. Or else that might start to look really bad. Tonight has done wonders for alleviating his fear of Harry not being interested in him, but he also knows that he needs to step up and find the courage to tell Harry that. Soon.

To cover for his momentary freak-out (and also just because he’s been wanting to), Louis surges up and captures Harry’s lips with his own for the briefest of moments before darting off towards his own vehicle.

“Goodnight Harry,” he calls as he goes, lips tingling and cheeks warm.

— 

His mum notices right away how tired he is when he walks in.

“Love, are you sure you’re up for tonight? Dan and I can stay home if you need, you just really look like you need a good rest.”

“No, I’m good,” Louis yawns into his hand. “You go out and have fun. What time do you guys think you’ll be back?” 

“Oh we’re not staying out too late tonight, the film should end at ten and we’ll be home after that. Won’t even need to try to convince the older ones to get to bed.”

She holds her arms out for a hug and Louis goes willingly, feeling a sense of relief when he’s wrapped up in his mum’s embrace.

“I’ve got something to tell you when you get home tonight,” he tells her when they pull apart. “So don’t stay out too late, you crazy kids.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?” his mum asks, looking a little worried.

“I don’t think so,” Louis says, trying to give a believable smile. “Just something I need to get off my chest.”

“Okay Boo Bear,” she kisses him on the head as Dan walks into the room, his coat already on. “We’ll see you in a few hours. The girls are all downstairs fighting over the remote, as normal.”

That probably means another night of Zootopia. The youngest two eventually win out just because of how long they’re willing to continue to scream about it. Louis knows this from experience.

— 

Ernest and Doris are the only two asleep by the time Dan and Jay arrive home. Louis’s pretty sure they’ve rushed a bit, and he feels bad but he’s also a little relieved when he sees their headlights through the window. He’s psyched himself out about this, as he seems to be doing about everything lately.

He leaves his four sisters in the downstairs living room watching Eastenders (although they’ve been doing more Snapchatting than watching for a while now, Louis’s phone going off with ridiculous numbers of snaps that he refuses to open on principle).

“Is this a ‘make-tea’ sort of occasion then?” Jay asks, hanging up her coat.

“Already putting the kettle on,” Dan says as he kisses her before making his way to the kitchen.

When they’re gathered at the table, steam rising from the mugs in front of each of them, there’s a few minutes of awkward silence as Louis composes his thoughts. “So…”

He takes a sip of tea.

“How do you feel about being grandparents?”

Okay, Louis didn’t mean for it to come out that way. He definitely didn’t mean for it to come out that way. His mum chokes on her sip of tea and Dan pats her on the back as she coughs.

“Son,” Dan says (and Louis always appreciates the way he calls him ‘son’ after Louis spent years actively resenting him for joining their family). “I really didn’t think you of all people would ever knock up a woman, but-”

Louis doesn’t want to go through this again. “I didn’t,” he clarifies. “It’s me. I’m pregnant.”

Jay chokes on her tea again.

“Son,” Dan says, “I’m glad you’ve not knocked out a woman but at the same time I’m feeling like there’s a man out there I should be beating up for causing this situation. Is that true?”

Louis wants to laugh, and there’s never been a moment he’s appreciated Dan more than this one. “No, he’s a real gentleman, don’t worry.”

“Boo Bear,” Jay finally coughs out. “My god, my baby!” She clasps both his hands in hers from across the table. “How far along are you?”

“Eight weeks,” Louis says, squeezing her fingers. “It was a surprise, but… He’s a great guy, mum.”

“So he knows? You’re in contact and he’s supportive?”

“He’s…” Louis pauses. “We  _ are _ in contact, and he’s supportive… But I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t… gotten up the courage.”

His mum looks like she’s tearing up. 

“I think both of you need to cuddle this one out,” Dan says to them. “I propose we move this party to the couch.”

They gather in the ground floor living room (as the girls downstairs continue to marathon Eastenders) and Louis spends an hour filling in his parents on Harry, the doctor visits, and Harry again. He leaves out the more intimate details of his hand Harry’s first night together, of course, but one thing he’s always appreciated about his relationship with his parents is how open their communication is, and now is a good time to unload everything.

When he leaves at the end of the night, it’s with a vague plan of action, and a promise for all of Ernest and Doris’s old baby furniture. Every step he takes towards his future feels like a step toward clarity and a step toward confusion.

Maybe this is what being a parent is going to be like though.

— 

“So you told your parents?” 

“Yes Niall, and now I need somewhere to put a truckload of baby furniture.”

“And you told Harry?”

“...No.”

— 

Their second date is a week later, and Louis has a great date  planned. He’s re searched, and by that he means he’s talked to his mum. She gave him a great recipe that he remembers absolutely loving when he was little, for chicken wrapped in parma ham. He’s got candles and Niall has given him a CD of “Sexy Time” music that he is definitely not going to play because that would be a horrible decision, but he does have a glass of champagne and a glass of sparkling grape juice, and a beautiful new white tablecloth completely free of stains.

Ten minutes before Harry is meant to show up, the whole building is evacuated because someone two floors below him set off the fire alarm.

He’s standing outside with all the other residents of his building when Harry’s beat up old Mini Cooper comes puttering up the road. 

“Louis!” Harry calls, jogging up from where he’s parked his car and looking like a vision in an argyle sweater vest and thick glasses. “Is everything okay? What’s happened?”

Louis shrugs. He’s cold and temperamental and his nipples honestly feel quite painful under his shirt. “Some shithead set the fire alarm off.”

“Is there a fire?” Harry asks worriedly, glancing up at the building as if it might go down any minute.

“Nah, but the fire brigade has to come down here and check it out before we’re allowed back in. So now our dinner is sitting cooling on the table and I’m  _ freezing _ out here! Didn’t even get to grab me coat!”

Harry eyes Louis’s outfit (which he’s quite proud of really, black skinnies and a black t-shirt that’s just loose enough not to show off his slightly rounder belly). Then, like a flash he’s pulling off his own sweater vest. “Here,” he huffs. “I’m, um, a furnace and you definitely should be wearing more than that.”

Louis starts to protest but he  _ is _ freezing, and then to his delight Harry doesn’t hand him the vest, but instead the long-sleeved button up underneath, which when Louis puts on goes over his hands. It’s warm because it was just resting between the vest and Harry’s torso, and it keeps the wind at bay. Plus, bonus, it smells like Harry.

He looks up to say thank you, but the words die on his lips momentarily as he sees Harry standing there in his khakis and pulling back on the sweater vest over his bare chest. It’s by far the weirdest outfit yet but Louis… would really like to pull Harry around the side of the building and leave some pretty bruises on those now-visible collar bones.

“Louis?” Harry asks, seeing him staring. “Do I… is this alright? I know I probably look ridiculous…”

Louis grabs his wrist and pulls him in the direction of the nearest dark alley. “You look  _ perfect.” _

They end up in a park for the duration of their second date, stargazing and talking about anything and everything (and boy does Louis like to hear Harry ramble on about anything and everything - he doesn’t always seem to quite get to his point but boy is it a journey listening to him try).

— 

The third date is when it all goes tits up.

Louis let Harry plan this one, and maybe that was a mistake but Harry had looked so excited at the prospect. He wouldn’t let Louis in on where he was taking him, just showed up in that beat up old Mini Cooper like always and kept giggling that “ssh, it’s a secret!” when Louis would try to guess their destination.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Harry pulls up into a muddy field beside a farmer’s market. “Apple picking!” He announces excitedly when he turns to Louis. “I used to do it all the time with my sister when we were little, but I haven’t been to one since primary!”

Louis wants to laugh at how excited Harry is at the prospect of picking apples off a tree. It’s definitely not something he grew up doing, but Harry’s eyes are practically  _ sparkling, _ his dimples out on display in full, and Louis’s willing to try anything if Harry keeps looking like that.

They make good headway, carrying a bag each and finding the biggest apples they can reach. Harry, even in his trusty loafers, slips on the muddy ground a few times but for the most part manages to navigate pretty well. Louis’s even started to make a nice little game of lobbing some of the less choice fruit over Harry’s shoulder from behind to startle him (after the first time when Harry put a hand to his heart and yelled  _ “Fuck me!” _ Louis just couldn’t resist trying to repeat it).

But then when they’re walking back, they pass a barn that boasts  _ Petting Zoo _ on the side and Harry drags Louis in, excited by the prospect of  _ “Sheep, Louis!” _ and the second the smell of the mess left by the animals hits Louis’s nose, he’s dropping his bag of apples and running for the outside, where he promptly vomits behind the door.

“Shit, fuck, Louis - are you okay?” Harry asks, racing up to him and dropping his own bag of apples.

Louis’s leaned over, hands to his knees, and is trying to spit the last of the bile out. His mum’s told him that his nausea has been almost worse than her own was with the most recent twins, but so far today he had done pretty well. Still, the second his tries to right himself the barn smell hits him again and he dry heaves, nothing left to come up.

“Oh my god, should I call somebody? Do you need water? Should we go to A&E?”

Louis reaches out his hand and grasps Harry’s wrist. “Don’t - don’t be ridiculous,” he says, panting as he tries to regain his breath. “I’m fine. Just need something to drink, maybe.”

“Louis, you’re not  _ fine,” _ Harry insists, squatting down so that he can get eye-level with Louis who’s still bent over with his hands on his knees. “Are you sick? We really didn’t need to come if you’re sick - we can reschedule!”

“I’m not sick—” Louis snaps, feeling irritated. “And it would be nice if we could just move on. I’m  _ fine.” _

He wobbles a bit as he stands up and Harry tries one more time.

“If you would just let me - let me feel your forehead-”

“I’m not  _ sick _ Harry, I’m  _ pregnant!” _ Louis nearly shouts and then covers his mouth, eyes wide.

Harry stares at him. “You’re…”

“Fuck,” Louis says, and then he breaks down in tears.

There’s a moment when he’s sure Harry’s just going to walk away and leave him there, standing above his own sick at the side of a petting zoo. He’s never going to be able to eat an apple again, he thinks to himself dimly. Then, suddenly, there are arms circling him and a comforting hand carding through his hair.

“Ssh,” Harry murmurs, his lips next to Louis’s ear. He sounds calm and collected, not at all freaking out like Louis is.

“S-so you found your soulmate, I assume,” Harry says next, as Louis’s crying turns more to whimpering. “That’s really great, I’m so happy for you. I-is it, have you known them long?”

Louis pulls away then, looking up at Harry with a frown. “Harry you absolute idiot,” he says through his teeth. “It’s  _ you.” _

Harry stands there, his arms still held out, eyes wide, and then smiles the biggest smile Louis is pretty sure he’s ever seen. Then he’s pulling Louis back into the embrace, only this time it feels like the hug is more for  _ Harry _ than for Louis.

“Fuck, Louis I-” He’s crying now too, Louis can feel the wetness on his cheek. “That’s— great news! I-it  _ is _ great news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah Harry,” Louis sniffles, relieved that of all the ways this conversation is going, this is the one Louis had hoped for the most. “It’s great news.”

— 

Harry doesn’t slip or trip or stumble  _ once _ as he pulls Louis toward the car. “You need water,” he says. “And they’ve not got good water here. Good enough. And you need to be  _ warm. _ We’ll buy you a jumper on the way home. And some socks, just in case.”

Louis can’t stop giggling. His breath smells like acrid sewage and he’s got hay in his hair from Harry briefly stopping next to a hay bale to leave a mark of ownership on his neck (which, Louis did  _ not _ think Harry had that in him), and Harry’s being absolutely ridiculously overzealous about making sure Louis’s every need is provided for, and probably that will get old eventually but right now it’s magical.

As soon as they’re both in the car, Harry asks “How far along?”

“Well, seeing how I think you remember that night as well as I do…” Louis ventures. “Ten weeks. The doctor says it’s the size of a lime.”

“There’s a lot of different sizes of limes,” Harry muses to himself as he pulls out of the farm and onto the main road. “It’d be nice if they used a more standard comparison.”

“I was actually, um, I have an appointment this coming week on Wednesday if you’d want to come with? Only if you’re free, of course.”

Harry reaches over and grasps Louis’s hand in his own. “I’d love that more than anything.”


	4. The Outcome

Something has changed about Harry now, the way he holds himself when he’s standing on the pavement outside of Louis’s work waiting to take him to his appointment. 

Louis’s been anxiously waiting for him to arrive for the last hour, making excuses to go stand over by the water cooler in front of the windows so he can look down and listen for the rumbling of that ridiculous little Mini Cooper.

Fifteen minutes before Harry was supposed to arrive, Niall had popped through the door and stuck his head over the side of Louis’s cubicle (giving him a terrible fright, especially since Niall shouldn’t even be able to get into the building), informing him that he wants to properly go intimidate Louis’s new boyfriend. So when Harry finally show up, Louis and Niall are standing by the window watching.

“Louis,” Niall says. “He’s the most sepia person I’ve ever seen.”

“The most  _ what?” _ Louis squawks. Harry’s hair actually looks to be in a neat quiff today, more volume and less grease and overall extremely cute, even viewed from two floors up.

“He’s not got an ounce of colour on him anywhere!” Niall cackles. “Brown pants, brown shoes, brown vest? You could put him in one of those old timey photographs and he’d look the same!”

Louis slaps him - not lightly - on the arm. “Don’t be mean!” he tells him, frowning. “He looks adorable and that vest is clearly olive coloured, not brown.”

“Olive coloured,” Niall deadpans. “That’s brown.”

“It’s  _ green, _ have you never eaten an olive in your life?”

“This is just because you’re a graphic designer.”

“No, this is you being an idiot. Don’t make fun of my boyfriend, he’s  _ sensitive.” _

Niall gives him a look that Louis understands, even if he wants to pretend he doesn’t. Louis’s never been one to have a quote unquote  _ weak _ boyfriend, one who needs coddling and reassurance all the time. He’s complained, drunkenly, about his first boyfriend  _ Dustin _ time and time again after a few too many drinks and his need to have Louis text him back every ten minutes or else he was convinced Louis hated him.

But that’s not Harry. Harry’s different and not in a blinded-by-soulmates-love sort of way. He’s a little awkward and he knows it but he clearly isn’t taking his self-worth from what Louis thought of him (the incident with his outfit aside); he speaks unashamedly about his interests and loves, bashful but not overtly afraid of what Louis may think about his passions.

It’s refreshing.

So Louis slaps Niall again and tells him that  _ Harry’s different, _ and he doesn’t care about whether Niall believes him or not because he’ll learn soon enough.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, a text from Harry that just says  _ “I might be here! Or not! I might be lost!” _ appearing on his home screen.

Harry’s sent him a lot of texts over the last couple days. They started out in the same rather panicky way that Louis’s mind worked when he first learned about the pregnancy, overthinking every little thing and questioning about every choice that would have to be made, all at once. The most texts he sent though, the more logical and clear-headed he sounded. In the space of three days it went from;

**Harry:** _What if the baby needs is allergic to tomatoes? What do we do?_

and

**Harry:** _Should we invest in a vegan food delivery program? For the baby’s health?_

to

**Harry:** _I’ve subscribed to a daily e-mail for parents-to-be, it’s really interesting! Are you still feeling a lot of morning sickness? Because there are some great home remedies and smoothies for boosting energy. I’ve got a great site my mum recommended for second-hand baby furniture used mostly by rich Londoners so you know it’s good._

He doesn’t require a response to his texts the moment, or even the hour, he’s sent them, and he often will send a string of them in a row if he’s thinking something over, coming to resolution in text-form for Louis to read through with a laugh the next time he picks up his phone.

Louis grins, feeling warm and fluttery, and takes one last look through the window at Harry, who’s kicking his feet about like a bored toddler.

“Come on Niall,” he says. “Let’s go meet my boy.”

When they emerge from the building, Harry’s smile is blinding, his dimples little cavities that Louis wants to pepper with kisses. 

“Hi Lou,” Harry says. “I was worried I had the wrong place. All of the offices around here look the same!”

“The good news is I could hear you coming from a mile off with that beat up old car,” Louis says, linking his fingers with Harry’s.

“Heeey, don’t talk about Melissa like that!” Harry complains, and then stage whispers  _ “She’s sensitive.” _

Louis snorts. “Niall, meet Harry,” he says, motioning between them. “Harry, meet Niall. Niall’s a good friend who decided to invite himself into my building today in order to stalk you. He’s Irish and has been pining over the same girl for a decade.”

“That hurts, Lou,” Niall says, pouting.

“Hello,” says Harry, reaching out his free hand for Niall to shake. “I’m quite familiar with pining, myself.”

“Louis’s just being dramatic,” Niall tries to tell him. “Anyway, you’ll need to join us at the next quiz night. Bet our team would score a bit more with a museum bloke around.”

“I’m horrible under pressure, but I’ll buy a round to make up for it,” Harry says with a straight face. Louis chokes out a laugh.

“Come on, Hazza,” he says. “We’ve got to get going. Let’s leave Niall to his own worrying devices.”

Niall waves as they make their way through the lot. “You  _ are _ coming to quiz night!” He calls after them. “And I’m taking you up on that Harry!”

— 

Harry hums along to the radio as they go, bopping his head side to side like a solar bobblehead on a sunny day. He looks so peaceful, one hand on the wheel and the other covering Louis’s on the armrest between them, absentmindedly rubbing one of Louis’s knuckles. 

“So that was Niall,” Louis says. “He’s serious about quiz night. It’s a tradition.”

“He seems nice,” Harry muses. “I worry how he’s going to be when he finds out how horrible under pressure I am. Can barely string two sentences together. Always got horrible test grades back in school.”

Louis laughs. “A nerd like you? No offence, I just feel like you should have aced you way through everything.”

Harry briefly glances down at his outfit. “You’d think that. Turns out there’s a difference between loving learning and being  _ good _ at it. I did quite shit until halfway through university when I realised I had to improve my performance to get into the program I wanted. It was a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of Liam complaining about my leaving the light on while he tried to sleep.”

“Oh, left here,” Louis points to the upcoming intersection. “You should invite Liam along when you come. We can have up to five in a group, it seems like fate!”

“Fate…” Harry says, a dreamy smile gracing his lips. “Sort of like… finding your soulmate?”

Louis  _ giggles, _ which is something he’s not at all used to doing. He and Harry haven’t really gotten the chance to talk it all over, what it means to each of them moving forward. It’s been conversation after conversation (mostly over text, after that drive home from the apple orchard) focused on the baby and there’s not been a lot of time left for the two of them. They’re in a relationship though, that much is certain, and the way Harry looks whenever he sees Louis, and the way they gravitate towards each other, Harry’s tough magnetic and electric… There’s still so much that needs to be said, but Louis’s rather confident that their thoughts are heading in the same direction.

When they make their way into the doctor’s office, Louis takes great joy in the way Harry’s eyes light up at the baby pictures covering all the walls. Louis’s only just started to show, feeling on most days that he looks more like he’s just eaten too much the night before than that he’s got a little one growing inside of him.

Doctor McElroy is as courteous as ever when they’re led back to the exam room, offering Harry one of the chairs as Louis hops up onto the paper-covered bed.

She asks a number of questions about how Louis’s been feeling since his last visit, Louis listing off his various symptoms as she takes his vitals, his blood pressure, and so on. He’s more than a little embarrassed to list some of the symptoms in front of Harry, but figures if Harry’s gonna be around for the next seven months he’ll probably hear worse.

“Now if it’s okay with you, I’d like to perform an ultrasound,” Doctor McElroy tells them as she’s winding back up the blood pressure cuff. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asks, already looking panicked. 

“Oh yes,” she assures. “There’s nothing to be alarmed about, I’m just going off of Louis’s symptom list and family history, and I think a few things might be explained.” She’s already wheeling over new equipment, and Louis lifts his shirt up, tucking it around his armpits. 

The gel she applies is cold and makes him wince, and it seems weird watching her set up when in all the movies he’s ever watched, people’s stomachs are already huge and round. 

The screen, when Doctor McElroy turns it on, is a grainy black and white, and as she starts to move the sensor around his stomach. Louis knows both he and Harry are staring at the screen although as far as he can tell there could be a lizard inside of him and he wouldn’t be able to make it out.

The doctor, thankfully, clearly has done this often enough to have more of a clue than he does.

“There’s the head, you see, and there’s the body…” She’s pointing to blobs and while Louis’s not entirely sure he can tell what she’s trying to describe to him, he does know that that’s  _ his baby in there. _

“And there’s, oh…” She smiles widely and glances over at them. “There’s the second head.”

“Our baby has two heads?” Harry asks, eyes wide.

“Thankfully not,” she laughs. “It looks like Louis is continuing on his mother’s family tradition. The two of you are having twins, congratulations!”

Eyes wide, Louis stares at the screen, and then down at his stomach as if he’ll be able to see a difference.  _ Twins.  _ He feels faint. He glances over at Harry and sees he looks terribly pale, although he  _ is _ smiling.

“It explains the amount of morning sickness you’ve been having,” Doctor McElroy tells him. “Twice the babies is twice the morning sickness. It should last a bit longer than normal, but there’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

“Right,” says Louis weakly. “Of course.”

“Other than that, everything looks normal and healthy.”

Louis has never felt less normal in his life. 

But Harry’s here too so maybe that’s okay.

— 

They’ve been officially dating for a month and a half when Louis wakes up around one in the morning to his phone going off.

Truthfully he’s been asleep for a good five hours at this point, because the two troublemakers in his tummy seem to be sapping his energy like leeches. Adorable leeches that he’s excited to eventually welcome into the world.

He fishes his phone out from under a pillow and  _ The Flight of the Bumblebee _ gets louder. It’s Harry’s official ringtone, which he programmed in himself one night when Louis told him that Harry was like a busy bee, always jumping between subjects when he gets too excited and rambling up a storm when he gets really excited about whatever he’s talking about (like last week when the museum got in a brand new collection of Babaar the Elephant paraphernalia).

“H’lo,” Louis yawns as he answers the call, closing his eyes and making himself comfy. “What’s up Hazza?”

“Louis!” Harry says on the other end, clearly sounding much more alert. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even thinking!”

“No, no you’re fine,” Louis says. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine…” 

Louis can hear the pause in his voice, like he’s thinking through what he’s about to say. It wakes him up a bit more, and he sits up, pulling his duvet up around his waist so that he can play with the edge of it, rubbing it in soothing circles between his fingers.

“I was just thinking,” Harry stumbles over his words and bit. “We haven’t, uh, known each other for that long now, and I know we’ve kind of approached this all out of order, getting pregnant  _ before _ going on a date…”

_ Oh no, _ Louis thinks.  _ Oh no oh no, please don’t be breaking up with me. _

“And it’s just - I know we don’t know each other that well yet-”

_ He’s breaking up with me, _ Louis thinks, grasping onto his duvet for some sort of anchor.  _ He’s breaking up with me and I’m going to have to raise both of these children alone and I’ll never get to play with his hair again and he’ll never give me another amazing back rub and I’ll have to tell my family what happened- _

“So I was thinking, do you want to get engaged?”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“I- I mean I understand if you don’t, but I just wanted to say that, um, I’m all in, you know? I want to be there for you, no matter what.”

“Oh,” Louis says. He can feel tears gathering in his eyes for an entirely different reason now. “Um. Yes. Of course. I’d love that.”

He hears Harry let out a breath of air. “Oh thank God. I didn’t think this out. I just got really excited, you know? Because we were talking about restructuring the museum at work today, and it was sort of stressful of course but it looks like my new position might be even better than my old one,and then I was thinking that it doesn’t really matter in the end, not really, because the important thing isn’t where I’ll be a year from now, it’s where you’ll be and whether or not I’ll be with you, you know? And I just got really worried that you didn’t know. That you’re it for me. I know we’re soulmates but there’s always those stories about people who choose against it anyway and I just, I wanted to make it completely clear that I’m not gonna be like that. I’m staying. If you’ll have me-”

“Harry,” Louis says. “Hazza. Take a breath. Please.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then a weak, “thanks.”

“Let’s get lunch tomorrow,” Louis says. He can feel the adrenaline leaving him and he fights back a yawn. “Tell me that all again face to face so that I can swoon and kiss you at the appropriate moments.”

Harry makes a strangled noise on the other end of the phone that has Louis laughing. When they hang up, he yawns again wide enough to have his jaw crack and settles back under the duvet (sticking his feet out and carefully maneuvering himself so that he’s got pillows supporting all the right areas). He falls asleep almost immediately after that and dreams of strange phone calls and proposals and languid kisses in front of the museum fountain.

— 

The next morning when he awakes, he has the weirdest memory of a phone call and middle of the night proposal. It seems terribly vivid but also resembles a number of dreams he’s been having lately (the wishful thinking kind), so he doesn’t initially trust himself.

That is, until he looks at his phone.

**Liam:** _Harry told me! CONGRADULATIONS_ _  
_ **Liam:** _Hes so happy u said yes_ **  
** **Liam:** _Hes actually here now because he got too excited_ **  
** **Liam:** _In fact I don’t think he’s gonna sleep tonight_  
 **Liam:** _Now hes asking when the nearest jeweler opens_ **  
** **Liam:** __I just realised these texts may be waking u up im so sorry

**Liam:** _ he wants to know if u like donuts but his phone died _

Louis checks the timestamps on them. The first slew of texts were all sent in about ten minutes starting at 2:42, and the last one reads 5:37. That was almost an hour and a half ago now. 

He got Liam’s number when the five of them first went out together for quiz night, because Harry insisted and now Louis is starting to learn why (because no one ever has an android charger).

He gets out of bed and stretches, feeling his back protest under the extra pounds that have been added in the last few months. He texts Liam back that he does, in fact, like donuts but hopes that Harry didn’t keep him up all night, and quickly dons clothes and brushes his teeth, thinking that if he leaves fast enough he can get a nice croissant or four on the way to work. Donuts don’t sound half bad though, maybe he’ll stop by Starbucks and buy them out of cake pops.

What? Cravings are real.

He slips on his shoes and grabs his keys, pushing open the door to check the temperature - 

And there’s Liam and Harry, sitting on his front step with a large box of donuts.

Liam is asleep, his cheek smushed up against the brick wall.

Harry has the happiest face Louis has ever seen.

“I didn’t know what kind you wanted so we got one of each,” he says, opening the box and showing Louis the most delectable array of donuts. 

“Did you sleep last night?” Louis asks. Harry’s hair is a bit of a mess, stray strands curling around his ears.

“Maybe,” Harry says, eyes wide. “I dunno.”

“Right,” says Louis. “You two had better come in.”

Thus, their engagement party consists of Harry, Louis and Liam sharing donuts as Louis calls off work. Nialls shows up twenty minutes later and Louis isn’t sure how he found out. They go ring hunting at ten, and Louis gets to listen to Harry talk about the history of wedding bands for a good hour until he’s charmed the woman showing them bands so much that she gives them a discount.

It’s a great day, and Louis eats about six donuts.

— 

They’ve been engaged for two months, give or take, when Louis officially moves in with Harry. It’s a convenience thing, or at least that’s what he tells Steve and Niall when he asks them to help him move. Harry’s closer to work and he’s got an extra bedroom to put bassinets in when the babies come. The truth is, they’re about ready to stop having to leave in the early hours of the morning to change clothes before work.

Harry’s apartment is a whole lot like Harry. At first glance it’s a little old and antiquated, but the more Louis’s looked around the more he’s changed that description to  _ quirky and adorable. _ He’s got a windowsill of succulents that he keeps managing to kill off and having to replace, but he continues to do so faithfully. He has a huge old globe where almost none of the countries are correct because the Museum was just going to throw it away after a nicer one was donated. He says he likes to spin it and see where he lands, and Louis actually believes him.

Sleeping in the same bed is more of a blessing than Louis would ever have expected, partly because he gets to spoon Harry - it’s still not comfortable trying to keep from sleeping on his stomach but sleeping up against Harry means being able to throw his arm over him and use him as an ice box on all of his sore spots (because the man is  _ always _ freezing). 

There’s also the bonus that when they go to sleep at night, Harry strips down to next to nothing, takes off his glasses, and Louis gets to kiss all the red points where his nosepieces rubbed the wrong way, and he gets to tousle his freshly showered curls.

One of their first nights together, Harry has gotten terribly embarrassed about his hair, admitting under cover of darkness that he feels like he should be trying to style it more the way Louis liked it during the day, and he feels incredibly selfish for continuing to slick it back just because that’s how  _ he _ likes it.

"I like it this way though," Louis tells him, reaching his arms up and around Harry's neck. "It's like a special bit of you that's just for me."

Harry's blushing, his face so flaming red that Louis pulls him down by his neck to kiss him and feel the warmth in his cheeks. "Harry Styles you are utterly ridiculous and I'm so glad that you wear too much pomade to work if it means that when you come to bed with me I can be the only one to feel the curls in your hair."

— — — 

It’s on the morning of May 18th that they’re born, two healthy baby girls, and Louis - in a drugged up post-pregnancy haze - makes Harry  _ swear _ that he won’t name either of them Dewey, after his favourite library classification system. They are introduced to friends and family a few hours later as Olivia and Matilda Tomlinson-Styles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [Londonfoginacup](Http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! Come say hi! Thank you so much for reading! and [here](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/167312134229/souls-plural-parallel-ladylondonderry) is the fic post!


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